INDIAN . . . NOT native American !!
I don’t remember reading an interview with anyone who went to IAIA when Fritz Scholder was an instructor there . . . anyone who was a student of his . . . down on CERRILLOS RD . . . .
I think Fritz was living up on CANYON RD at the time . . . and I was at Middle Dorm IAIA . . . 2nd floor rooming with my cousin . . . anyway I THINK my roommate might have been a cousin . . . we were both from the same town.
Yeh . . . Scholder . . . I had a 2D design class that he taught initially, and eventually moved into his studio painting class . . . I had a cubicle about 6 feet X 6 feet.
I had been booted out of Allen Houser’s sculpture class . . . into Seymour Tubis‘ printmaking class, and then got shunted up into Fritz’s kingdom. I was also in Leo Bushman’s painting class.
I say UP because his studio spaces were in one of the original Indian School buildings . . . I saw Fritz more in the design class than I did in the studio section.
Two VERY significant things I remember about Fritz . . . one, he made me get rid of, or I should say HE got rid of my excess paint brushes . . . Fritz came in on one of his rare visits and asked me which of the brushes in my “brush” can I used the most . . . I picked out 2 or 3 and he took the rest and threw them in the trash (!!) then told me to learn to use the ones I had left . . . sort of like Hokusai . . . the SECOND milestone was when he asked me if a painting I had been working on was “finished” or not . . . I realized he had been visiting my workspace while I was in another class, and he was aware that I had not worked on the canvas in question for 1 or 2 days . . . I looked the painting and then said, ” . . . yes, it’s finished . . .” His reply was, “Get another canvas stretched.” and he left.
I don’t recall ever seeing any other students in the studio . . . although there were works-in-progress in various cubicles . . .
end of part 1 . . .
p.s. I never attained any status as an “INDIAN” artist like T.C. Cannon or Doug Hyde . . . both who were at IAIA when I was . . .